James fixed his gaze on Brandon with unwavering regard. “Before this goes any further, I want to know what you expect from this partnership.”

Brandon smoothed his cuff. He supposed he could understand Lansdowne’s distrust. It was not a situation that gave itself to fostering a sense of faith in human nature. “Since we are on a parallel journey as it were, it would be more enjoyable—and more prudent—to travel the distance together.”

“You expect me to believe that you’re here, sharing your information for no other reason than because you think it might be more ‘enjoyable’?”

Brandon had to force himself not to look at Verena. There were a lot of different ways one could use the word “enjoyable,” and they all applied to Verena. “Lansdowne, I understand why you don’t trust me, or anyone for that matter. But I’m not here to cause you any distress.”

“You want to be partners, then? Share information, clues?”

“Why not?” Brandon asked. “We come from a greater position of strength if we fight together.”

“And when we find the list?”

“Then we find it.”

“Ah, but you want it for one thing, we want it for something else. What then?”

Brand shrugged. “We cross that bridge when we get to it. But whatever we decide, we decide together.”

James still looked unconvinced. “This seems very unusual to me.”

“The whole bloody mess is unusual.”

“Hm.” James eyed Brandon thoughtfully. “What reason do you have for trusting us? How do you know it wasn’t Verena or I who killed Humford and then stole the list? How do you know we didn’t fabricate those love letters, the blackmail, all of it—just to hide our real purpose?”

“James!” Verena exclaimed.

“It’s a valid question,” James returned brutally. “Humford was here immediately before he was killed. And as much as I hate to admit it, you and I would both make good candidates for suspicion.” His lips twisted. “Part of our Lansdowne legacy.”

Verena colored. “That hurt.”

“Only because it is true,” James returned, meeting her gaze levelly. Something passed between them, a unspoken comment that made Verena’s lips tighten.

Brandon watched them, his interest growing. Perhaps this was what Colburn had meant when he’d hinted that Verena had secrets. “What exactly is a Lansdowne?”

James lifted a brow at his sister. “Shall I tell him? Or will you?”

She tilted her chin into the air. “I don’t think he needs to know.”

Oh, but he did. And very, very badly. But before she could voice her protest, James spoke.

“You’ve already told our darkest secrets. Why stop now?”

Brand grinned a little when Verena favored her brother with a hot glare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” James said. “If you trust him enough to tell him about my stupid mistakes and our subsequent predicament, then you might as well come all the way clean.”

Almost as an afterthought, he added, “I don’t want anything to turn up later that might plague our little partnership.”

Verena stared down at her shoes, her color high. Finally, after what seemed an interminable length of time, she said, “Oh very well. But I think it’s ill advised.”

Brand waited.

She turned a little in her chair until she faced him, though she was careful not to look directly at him. In fact, she very deliberately clasped her hands together and stared at her interlocked fingers. “This is very difficult, but I—well, I suppose you should hear it from us. My family…the Lansdownes…”

The ornate mantel clock ticked away the seconds. Brandon waited.

She sighed and began again. “As you know, some people live by their wits. Well, my father is considered very witty.”

James shook his head ruefully. “Ver! Do you want me to tell him?”

“I’m telling him,” she said testily.

“No, you’re not. You’re hinting. Just spit it out. If you don’t, the Home Office will.”

“The Home—do you think they know?”

“Of course they do.”

“Wonderful.” She took a deep gulp and then finally met Brandon’s gaze. “My father is a French count.”

That was it? Brandon frowned.

He said, “My grandfather held an Irish title. He bred horses and was very—”

“No, no,” Verena said, twisting her hands. “You don’t understand. Sometimes my father is a French count.”

Brandon paused. “Sometimes?”

“And sometimes he is a Russian nobleman, displaced by Unfortunate Events.”

“He was an Italian prince once, too,” James added helpfully. “That was one of his better ones.”

“He always did look good in red,” Verena said absently. She didn’t dare look at Brand again.

James had been right—it was time everything was brought out into the open. And better now, before she’d come to care overly much, than later, when she was lost.

She knew what to expect of course. Disbelief, followed by distrust. The thought tightened her throat.

Brand’s husky voice cut through her thoughts. “I see. Your father is—” He rubbed his forehead as if to clear it. “Good God.”

“Our father is whatever he needs to be,” James said brutally. “And he’s damned good at it, too.”

Brand nodded slowly. He looked first at James, then at Verena, a question in his gaze. “What about the two of you?”

Verena frowned. “What about the two of us?”

“Are either of you a count or countess of varying degrees? Or a Russian prince or princess?”

“Of course not,” Verena said hotly.

James chuckled. “Verena’s too stiff-necked to do anything so outrageous while I’ve never aspired to the heights my father reached. I’m content living within my trade.”

“Trade?”

James hesitated just an instant. “Cards.”

“Ah,” Brandon said. “A family trait, that.”

She caught her breath. It seemed as though a thread of humor laced his voice. Surely not. Surely his pride was already recoiling at the thought of being in league with such charlatans.

But when she stole a look at him, he was regarding her with warm humor, his eyes gleaming softly. “You haven’t really surprised me, you know. I’ve mentioned your talent with cards before.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Why should I?”

Why should he, indeed, she thought dismally. It wasn’t as if they were engaged in a relationship. He could afford to enjoy her low connections since none of them were his. Verena took a slow breath. “Now you know all there is to know.”

“Do I?”

What else could there be to tell? Before she could ask what he meant, James interrupted. “You’d like the old man. He’s a genius.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And if you saw him in action, you’d think it, too.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Brandon said. “Am I soon to have the pleasure?”

“Lord, no. They’re in France right now. Making the most of the chaos, no doubt.”

“Now you know all of our secrets,” Verena said. In the four years she’d lived here on Kings Street in her little house, she’d never told a soul the things she’d told Brandon.

She hadn’t told anyone because she knew the way of the Lansdownes. Once the cat was out of the bag, it was time to move on. A Lansdowne came, they saw, they conquered, and then slipped away before everything unraveled and came falling down around their ears.

It was a sad state of affairs when telling someone about your family could be equated with a confession. And as usual, only the Lansdownes had anything to “confess.”

But perhaps she was being overly sensitive. Perhaps everyone had confessions to make. She eyed Brandon speculatively. What could he possibly have to confess? That he was madly and passionately in love with her?

That would be nice. The thought startled her. Would it be nice? Or would it be heart-wrenchingly sad? From the pain that settled in her heart, she thought she knew the answer.

“Well?” James said, looking at Brandon. “Has our confession changed your mind? Still wish to throw your future in with ours?”

“Even more so. I’m anxious to begin.” His smile glinted, his blue eyes softening. “I need some excitement in my life. Things were getting tedious.”

“Excitement?” Verena frowned. “You don’t know what you’re saying. There are times when I’ve thought a little boredom would be a good thing.”

“Boredom is good when it’s yours by choice,” Brandon agreed. “But when it’s forced on you, you find you’d do anything to break the chains.”

James looked as if he understood completely. “’Tis done, then. What do we do about this mess we find ourselves in?”

“The first thing we need to do is get Verena to safety,” Brandon said smoothly.

She stiffened. “What?”

James hid a grin. “You are wasting your time, St. John.”

“I don’t want her here,” he said with even more determination. “It could become dangerous. Especially now that the Home Office has gotten involved.”

“And they know we’re here,” James said.

“They mentioned Verena. I’m not certain they know about you.”

“They will,” Verena said shortly. Who in Hades did he think he was to demand such a thing? “I assume they are watching the house.”

Brand nodded.

Her heart sank. God, how she hated this. It was far too similar to when she’d lived with her parents—always on the verge of being discovered, always planning to flee into the night.

Years of conditioning had taught her that this moment was inevitable. She still left her packed portmanteau in the bottom of her wardrobe in case she had to leave in the middle of the night.

It hadn’t been used in four years and Verena wasn’t even sure what was in it, but the sight of that neatly locked portmanteau made her feel safer, more confident.

And now she knew why. Once a Lansdowne, always a Lansdowne.

“That is the one problem I have with Father’s career,” James said. “It puts one in a damnable spot if there’s ever an honest run-in with the law.”

Brandon nodded. “That may be true. At first, they thought to blame Wycham for their laxity in losing the list. Then, once they discovered Verena’s history, they seemed to be switching their attentions to her.”

“Yes,” James said, “and if they’ve lost something of importance, they will be looking for a scapegoat.”

“Unless we find the villain first,” Verena interjected.

“Which brings us back to the list,” Brandon said. He paused. Verena was right. They had to find a way to draw the villain out in the open. If only they had that damned list.

Brandon raked his hair from his eyes. “James, as soon as we’ve gotten Verena to safety, you and I will—”

Verena stood, her eyes flashing. “You and James? Look, St. John, we are in this together. Wherever you go, I go.”

“You don’t have a say in this. It’s not safe and that’s all there is to it.”

James regarded Brand with approval. “Two minutes into our partnership and already you are issuing orders. I like that.”

“You would,” Verena snapped, “especially since he is not issuing any orders to you.”

“Ver, be reasonable.” James protested. “Don’t start getting all missish on us.”

“I’m not being missish.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I am a part of this venture, whether St. John likes it or not. Unless he has plans to tie me up and keep me under lock and key, there is nothing he can do about it.”

Brand rubbed his jaw where it ached. She was right. As much as he would like to lock her away, if she didn’t cooperate…He sighed. “Will you at least promise to stay out of harm’s way?”

“No.” Verena paced away, then returned, her steps pulling Brand’s gaze. She was innately graceful, her stride smooth. Brand decided he had never before met a woman so worth watching.

She tapped a finger on her chin. “What we need is a plan. Something to—” She stopped so suddenly, her skirts swung forward, outlining her hips before setting back about her feet.

James straightened. “What?”

Verena tilted her head to one side. “What if…” Her lips parted, her gaze softening as if she saw something in the distance.

Brand frowned. “Wha—”

“Sh!” James said, waving a hand in his direction. “Let her think.”

Verena pressed her hand to her forehead. “What if we—” She turned and began to pace.

In that instant, she reminded Brand of his own mother. She’d always paced when upset. Strange how he hadn’t thought of that until now.

He wondered what Mother would have thought of Verena. He touched the talisman ring where it hung from his pocket and was a little surprised to find it warm beneath his fingers.

“What if,” Verena said, “what if we pretend we’ve found the list?”

James frowned. “What good would that do?”

Brandon’s mind raced. “Wait, James. She makes sense. If we can convince this villain that we’ve found the list, then all we have to do is sit back and wait. He’ll be forced to act, especially…” His gaze met Verena’s.

She nodded. “Especially if he believes we might turn it over to the Home Office.”

“Check,” Brandon said.

“No,” Verena said, a gleam in her violet eyes. “Checkmate.”

“I see!” James exclaimed. “That’s brilliant.”

She rewarded her brother with a wry look. “Don’t act so surprised.”

He chuckled. “Sorry.”

“It shouldn’t be difficult. We know the size of the list. Besides, the villain thinks we already have it—he expects us to have it.”

Brandon nodded thoughtfully. “We can make something fairly close in size—no one will need to see it except from a distance. All we have to do is wave it around a bit.”

James rubbed his hands together gleefully. “We’ll demand to exchange it for the letters—at our preferred location. That way we can control the situation, gain back those blasted letters and discover who is after that list in the first place.”

It was a daring plan. But a good one, providing Verena stayed far away from the exchange. Brand began to feel a little more hopeful.

James paced rapidly in front of the fireplace. “We’ll need a coach and some fast horses. I brought my best pistols, but Ver, you’ll need two for the carriage.”

“Of course,” she said coolly as if being told she’d need to arm herself was something she heard every day.

“Hold on a minute,” Brand said. “It’s one thing for James and I to draw out the villain, and an entirely different issue for you to involve yourself in a face-to-face meeting.”

Verena frowned. “I don’t see that.”

“You should. This person has killed before and will kill again. I won’t allow you to take such a chance.”

Verena blinked as if amazed. She turned wide eyes his way, and Brandon could almost hear what she was thinking. Surely he hadn’t forbidden her to do something. Forbidden her as if he had some sort of say in her life.

Well he did have a say in her life, damn it. “Verena, I cannot allow it.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“Like hell. James, you tell her.”

James held up his hands. “I’m not saying a word. I’ve seen her temper far too often to offer my opinion.”

Bloody hell. Brandon sliced a glance at Verena where she stood in rigid disbelief. “It’s dangerous.”

“It’s been dangerous since Humford was given that damnable list and I, believing him to be nothing but a genial old man who told amusing stories and liked to pretend he was a government saboteur, invited him to my house for dinner.”

Brand’s jaw tightened. Damn it, how could he make her see reason? He eyed James with a gloomy stare. “I take it you aren’t going to help. You’d just let your sister walk into danger without saying a thing.”

James shrugged. “She’s spent her entire life ignoring my advice. She’s not going to start listening to me now.”

“Exactly,” Verena said with a triumphant lift of her chin. “If my involvement bothers you, St. John, then feel free to leave. James and I can carry on quite well without you.”

Brandon was trapped. If he didn’t join in and help, Verena would be left to her own devices, doing God knew what, and without assistance. “Very well,” he said heavily. “I suppose we should start now.”

“What do we do?” James asked.

“Act as if we just found that bloody list.”

Verena nodded. “Since we don’t know the culprit, we have to convince everyone we meet that it’s real. The servants, our relatives, passersby.”

It seemed simple enough, Brandon decided. “What about the Home Office? Do we tell them the truth?”

“No,” Verena said. “Tell them that you believe I have the list, but will not tell you where.”

“I don’t like deceiving them.”

Verena locked gazes with him, her brows lowered. “Who killed Humford?”

Brandon shrugged. “We don’t know.”

“Exactly. But who did know that Humford had that list in his possession?”

The Home Office. Brandon rubbed his forehead. Good God, the web became more tangled each day.

James cursed. “I hadn’t thought of that. We have to proceed exactly as Verena says. We have to look excited, walk with purpose, act as if we really had that scrap of paper in our pocket.”

“We’ll need a hiding place, too,” Verena said, looking at her desk. “Perhaps I shall keep it hidden in there.”

Brandon frowned. “Why do you need a hiding place for a piece of paper that doesn’t exist? We’ll just pretend we’ve got a hiding place.”

Verena barely gifted him with a glance. “If we veer from the course even a little, they will realize we are shamming.”

And someone could get killed. They were playing with fire and they all knew it. Brand caught her gaze and held it, a shivery hot hum of attraction sparking between them. He thought of her in bed, her creamy skin flushed with passion, her eyes half closed as she breathed his name in her release. His body tightened instantly.

Damn it, what was wrong with him?

Think of something else. An image came to his mind of Humford. Of a slit throat and the drip of blood on the cobblestones. Right outside this very house. Near Verena. Brandon had to curl his hands about the arms of his chair to remain seated. “Verena, don’t—”

“Brandon.” She didn’t move toward him. She didn’t raise her voice, or gesture threateningly. But he heard the warning nonetheless.

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t assist this plot if you are going to put yourself in danger.”

Her eyes flashed, but before she could speak, James cleared his throat. “Pardon me, you two. You both seem to have forgotten one thing: there are only three of us involved. It will take all three of us working together if we’re to expose whoever killed Humford.”

Brand tore his gaze from Verena. “Exactly my point. If you want my help, you will promise to keep your sister away from harm. I will drive the coach and you can be inside. There’s no need for her to even go with us.”

James hesitated, clearly divided between his masculine inclinations and his knowledge of his sister. After a long moment, he looked at Verena with an apologetic smile. “Ver, he makes good sense. You would just be a distraction.”

“Oh!” Verena plopped her fists on her hips. “I can’t decide which of you vex me the most. I am perfectly capable of helping and you know it. I’m a dead-on shot and I know how to handle the horses, too!”

“I know, but I’ll be worried about you and—”

“Father would let me go. He would never suggest that I be left behind.”

James stiffened at that. “Yes, well, I’m not Father.”

Brandon cleared his throat. “Verena, we only want to protect you.”

Her eyes flashed contempt. “I don’t need protecting. I will go on this venture, either with you or without you.”

Brandon sighed. “We’ll discuss it later. In the meantime, we all have things to do.”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her jaw tight.

James cleared his throat, his gaze moving between Verena and Brandon. “Ah, pardon me for intruding, but…should we continue looking for that bloody list?”

Verena shrugged. “Why bother?”

“Because once our little contretemps is over, the Home Office will expect to get that list. I don’t believe they’ll accept that we were merely pretending to have it.”

She bit her lip. “You’re right. We’ll deal with that later. Although, it might not be a problem once—” Verena hesitated, glancing at James.

Something passed between them. Brandon sat up in his chair, frowning. What was behind that calm, almost sad look?

Whatever it was, after a moment, Verena continued smoothly, “Once we have captured the villain.”

James rubbed his hands together. “You know, Ver, I think this will work very well indeed.”

Brandon rose from his chair. He’d question Verena about it later. Right now, he had things to do. “We’re agreed then. We proceed from here on out as if we have the list.”

Verena nodded. “How long will it take the villain to make his move?”

James frowned. “I’d give him two or three days. He will be cautious now. He can’t afford to take any chances.”

“I hope to God you are right,” Brandon said. There was more to be said, but now was not the time. He gave James one last nod, sent a hot, telling look to Verena, then turned on his heel and left.

Once in the foyer, he paused. Damn it, he didn’t like this plan one bit.

But what could he do but support it? If he didn’t, Verena and James would go on without him, and he’d be damned if he’d leave Verena alone to face this mess.

“’Ere now,” Herberts said brightly, coming down the hallway, Brandon’s coat over his arm. “Is ye leavin’ already? Oiye was jus’ brushin’ yer coat, oiye was.”

Brandon took his coat from Herberts and pulled it on.

The butler scurried to open the door, standing to one side, his hand held out.

Brand stepped out the door, then stopped. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, then turned and tossed it to the butler.

Herberts instinctively caught it, his eyes widening appreciatively. “A monkey! What’d ye give me that fer?”

“To keep an eye on your mistress. A very close, accurate eye.”

“Ye wants me t’ put me eyes against the peephole? Oiye suppose oiye can, o’ course, though there’d not be much to see since Mr. Lansdowne is Lady Westforth’s brother and all they’ll be doin’ is talkin’ ’bout the weather or som—”

“For the love of—” Brand didn’t know whether to laugh or black the man’s eye. “I don’t want you spying on her, you lummox. I want you to keep an eye out for anything…unusual. If you find anything amiss, send word to me at once.” He pulled out one of his cards and handed it to the butler. “Do you understand?”

Herberts took the card, squinting at it with one eye. “Oiye suppose it wouldn’t hurt to keep me blinkers peeled, seein’ how ’tis me dooty anyway.” His smile suddenly sank. “Wait a moment, guv’nor! Do ye think something moight happen? Something bad?”

Brandon nodded. And no one would dare harm a hair on Verena’s head. She might be prickly as hell and an adventuress to boot, but she was his whether she knew it or not. And the St. Johns always took care of their own, even when that someone was a beautiful, highly accomplished member of the Lansdowne family.

Brandon frowned. He was beginning to think it was imperative that he meet Verena’s family. All of them, if possible. He wondered if he should look for them at Tyburn, or if they were abroad at this time of year, residing in the Bastille. “Your mistress is a very unusual woman.”

“’Deed she is.” The butler touched a finger to the side of his nose and winked. “Haf no fear, oiye’ll watch her day in and day out, oiye will. Like a hawk.”

That was all Brand needed. He gave a brief wave and was soon climbing into his phaeton.

 

Silence filled the sitting room. Verena found that she couldn’t look at the door without her eyes watering and her throat tightening in a painful knot.

James took the chair Brandon had recently left. After a moment, he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Verena nodded mutely. They had no choice. Once they recovered James’s letters, they would leave London. They would have to. She placed a hand on the embroidered cover of the settee and looked about her. This was her home. The only one she’d really ever had. “I suppose you are going back to Italy?”

He nodded. “Long enough to finish my investments. You will come with me.”

She didn’t really care where she went. “I suppose we should write Father and tell him—” Her voice broke and she pressed her lips together in a vain effort to stop the tears.

James leaned forward and took her hand in his. “I wish there was some other way.”

So did she. God, so did she. She disengaged her hand and wiped her eyes. “What else can we do? The Home Office knows I’m a Lansdowne and will soon realize you are here as well, if they don’t already. And we don’t have the missing list, though they would never believe us.”

“Especially once we pretend we do have it. St. John is right,” James said with a heavy sigh. “Someone will pay for that blasted list and it will be one of us.”

“Brandon thinks he can protect us.”

“To protect you.” James’s frown deepened. “Ver, what’s St. John to you?”

What was he? He was kind and concerned, his gruffness hiding a soul as large as any she’d ever seen. She found him irresistible and impossibly stubborn.

And she wasn’t sure but that she could be beginning to care about him. Far, far more than was safe.

For a short period of time, she’d allowed herself to forget who she was. Who he was. She’d not make that mistake again.

She disengaged her hand from James’s and gave her brother a smile, forced as it was. “Brandon St. John is nothing to me. A friend, perhaps. But that is all.”

And that’s the way she’d keep it. There was no future for a man like him in her life. None at all.

Verena pushed away the unwelcome thoughts. She couldn’t think about that now or she’d be reduced to a quavering mass of tears and recriminations. She had to focus her efforts on helping James. James and no one else.

“Come,” Verena said, rubbing her hands together with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “There’s work to be done.”